Miracle
by kelly4
Summary: Paul and Emily get the shock of their lives. But what price will they have to pay for their miracle?
1. Chapter 1

**December 21, 2006**

He gently brushes his hand over the cold, marble stone, watching through misty eyes as the snowflakes flutter away in the breeze.

It never failed that seeing that name, etched on the small stone, acted like a vice grip on his heart.

_Jennifer Stewart Ryan_

How is it possible to miss someone so much? Someone that you never even really met?

Paul had been here, coming once a week, usually later at night. It was the only time he allowed himself to feel her loss, to feel the emotions that threatened to eat him up inside if he truly let them out for any length of time.

But for the little while he spent there each week, he let himself grieve for her. He let the tears flow, he let the pain consume him.

He barely feels the cold ground beneath him. He barely feels the light flurries of snow brushing his cheek. All he can feel is an ache, a dull ache that spreads throughout his body as he sees, in his mind, Emily holding their daughter tightly in her arms, not wanting to let her go as the nurse tried to gently take her small, motionless body.

So lost is he in this memory, he doesn't hear the crunching of frozen grass being lightly stepped on behind him.

Clutching a bag tightly in her fist, the sight of him sitting in front of their daughter's gravestone crushes Emily's heart into a million pieces. Their last few encounters, after she had told Meg the truth about what he had done to Craig, had not exactly been friendly, and she had sworn she would move on this time. Yet, how can you just stop loving someone? Seeing him here, vulnerable, visiting their daughter, brought all of the feelings she had been trying so hard to bury rushing to the forefront.

Knowing she is probably the last person he wants to see, she turns around, planning to head back to her car and wait until he's gone, wanting to give him some time alone with their daughter.

It's at that moment that Paul realizes he's not alone. He turns quickly, and sees Emily beginning to walk away.

"Em?"

She stops, and turns back towards him.

"Yeah…I didn't realize you were here. I'll just come back a little later," she says, her voice quiet, in deference to the setting.

It was funny, despite everything they had been through, and the drama of the past few weeks, in that moment? He was almost relieved she was there.

"You don't have to go," he responds, and Emily's eyes widen slightly in surprise.

"No…it's ok. You should have some time alone with her."

"Em...," he breaks off, trying to find the right words, but is only able to come up with one. "Stay."

"Look, you and I haven't exactly been on the best of terms recently, and I know you're really angry with me, and the last thing I want is for us to start fighting in front of her," she says, a tear escaping as she finishes.

"I don't plan on it. Come on, she's _our_ daughter Em. I'm willing to put aside all of it, at least for now. It's Christmas. We should both be here."

Emily watches him for a moment, then her eyes drift to their daughter's gravestone. She slowly takes a step forward.

"Okay," she whispers, and kneels down next to him. Like him, the cold winter ground is irrelevant as her heart constricts, seeing their daughter's name etched into the marble stone. She reaches out, her hand gently caressing the letters.

"How is it possible to miss someone so much that you never really knew?"

Paul turns towards her, stunned, and yet not, that Emily managed to voice the very thought he had had just moments before.

"You knew her better than anyone, Em," he says quietly. "She grew inside of you. You had that time with her."

"Not enough time," she responds, her voice breaking. "Do you think she knows we're here?"

Paul roughly wipes at a tear that has fallen to his cheek. "I hope so."

"You know, Daniel made an ornament for her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he said we didn't have to hang it on the tree if it made me too sad, but that he thought she should have her own ornament, just like him and mom and Ali and me, because no matter what, she's still his sister and still part of our family."

Paul smiles slightly. "He's an amazing kid."

"Yeah… more from his father than me."

"Don't say that, Em. Daniel loves you so much, you know that."

She sniffles, wiping the tears from her face.

"He misses you. He made you a present at school. He wanted to drop it off to you, if that's ok."

"Yeah…yeah of course. I…I actually have something for him to. I just wasn't sure if that would be okay with you."

"Paul…no matter where we stand? Daniel adores you, and I know that you care a lot about him. I would never discourage that."

Paul nods in acknowledgement. "He would have been a great big brother."

Emily smiles. "Probably really overprotective."

They sit in silence for a few moments, their eyes fixed on the small marble stone. Paul reaches out to brush away some of the snow that's collected while they've been talking.

"People always say that time heals all wounds," he says, his voice rough with emotion, "but this? I can't imagine time healing this."

A small sob escapes Emily's lips. "Me either."

Paul turns towards her, seeing her shoulders shake slightly as the pain seems to overtake her. He reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it gently in his own.

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

They sit quietly for a while, hands together, as if gathering some much needed strength from the other.. The only sounds around them are the faintly whispering wind, interrupted by muffled crying.

Paul looks at her, noticing the tears running down her cheeks, the crushing pain in her eyes, knowing that her pain mirrored his own. He looks around the dark cemetery, the flurries drifting down from the dark sky. Peaceful, in a way, but on the other hand, the quiet was almost painful.

"What's in the bag?" he asks quietly, finally breaking the silence.

"Huh? Oh….nothing."

"Nothing?"

Emily uses her free hand to brush the tears from her face. She glances at him, then back at their daughter's grave.

"You'll think it's silly," she says quietly.

"I doubt it."

"It's…it's a present. A Christmas present," she responds, barely above a whisper. She turns to him, a sad smile on her lovely face. "Silly, right?"

Paul just shakes his head slightly, then turns and lifts a small bag into view. Emily laughs a little, a welcome dose of cheeriness in this bleak, cold place.

"I guess we both had the same idea."

"Yeah. What's yours?"

She places the large, blue bag, adorned with rocking horses and balloons, in front of her. "I was walking down Smith Street the other day, and I was passing by 'Bundle of Joy', you know that baby store? And I saw this in the window," she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a soft, fluffy pink blanket. "And I thought about it. She never had her own baby blanket," she says, her voice beginning to shake a little. "I mean, we wrapped her in one of Emma Snyder's dishtowels for crying out loud. And then, when we got her to the hospital, they wrapped her in one of those scratchy, antiseptic blankets. So, I'm standing outside this store, looking at this blanket, and I realize I'm crying thinking about all this," she reaches up and wipes the tears that have begun falling down her cheeks. "And I went in and bought it. Because I wanted her to have her own blanket," she finishes quietly.

Paul reaches out and touches the light pink blanket. He imagines the soft confection wrapped around their daughter, imagining what should have been. Emily holding her in this, him holding her in this. With both of them holding it, they instinctively take it out of the bag and gently lay it out in front of her headstone. Covering her.

"It's perfect," he says, tenderly stroking the blanket's shiny pink satin edging, his voice raspy with emotion and understanding.

"Yeah," she says quietly, straightening the blanket gently. "So, what about you?"

"Oh," he reaches into the bag and pulls out a little brown teddy bear, with a bright red heart on its stomach. "I, uh…well I actually got this over the summer."

"You did?"

He nods, his thumb tenderly rubbing the tiny red heart. "Remember the night I helped you with the Intruder's books?"

"Yeah."

"I..I felt pretty good about things after I left."

"Even after my mother snarked at you?"

He manages a small laugh. "Yeah, even after. I thought, you know, we were starting to get to a pretty good place. And I realized, I hadn't gotten anything yet. No baby things. So, I went down to that little shop on Baker Street and went in," he pauses, smiling a bit sadly. "Then I wasn't sure what to get, because I didn't know if the baby would be a boy or a girl. So, here I am, walking up and down the aisles, wanting something, but wanting it to be perfect, you know? And then, I saw this little guy. I knew I had to get it."

"And you kept it?"

"Yeah…I actually had forgotten about it. About a week after the storm, I was looking for something in my closet, and there it was. I don't think it really hit me until that moment, when I realized I would never be able to give it to her."

Seeing the tears in his eyes, Emily reaches over and instinctively strokes his hair.

"You're giving it to her now."

He nods, a tear escaping. He leans forward, placing the little bear against the headstone in the middle of the pink blanket. Emily reaches out, gently tracing the heart with her finger.

"It's adorable. She would have loved it," she says quietly.

They sit quietly for a few more moments, both starting to feel the cold but neither really wanting to leave.

"Do you think this is ever gonna get any easier?"

"I don't know…I wish I had a better answer than that Em, but I just don't know. Can I tell you something though? Something that's helped, even a little."

"I'll take anything."

"Close your eyes."

Emily gives him a look, but seeing he's serious, does what he asks.

"Now, think about Jenny. Picture her."

He sees a small smile tugging at Emily's lips, and knows she has the image of their daughter in her head.

"Now, imagine Jennifer holding her. Taking care of her."

He watches as Emily's lips tremble and tears escape from her closed eyes. Her small smile has grown a bit, at the thought Jennifer holding their daughter.

"Okay. Now, imagine Rose, making sure her hair is perfect and giving her the best manicure in Heaven," he finishes. He can't help but smile as Emily's smile breaks into a small laugh at the image of her best friend fussing over her and Paul's daughter.

"Help?"

Emily opens her eyes, a smile still on her tear-stained face.

"Yeah…you're right. Rose and Jennifer will make sure she's ok. Although, it might be fun to imagine Rose's reaction to us having a baby to begin with."

"True," he responds, laughing softly.

Impulsively, Emily leans over and tenderly kisses his cheek.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"I know…in about 10 minutes, when we leave here, we're gonna go back to the way things were. And I get that. But, thank you….for this. It helped, having you here. I wasn't sure how I was gonna do this, but doing this with you? It felt….right."

"Em…no matter what's going on between us, nothing is ever gonna change the fact that she's our baby girl. And…it helped me, too. No one knows, but us…what it's like to miss her like this, you know?"

"Yeah…I know."

Paul reaches out and puts his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. Emily leans her head on his shoulder, and they sit quietly amidst the falling flurries, spending Christmas with their daughter.

**A half hour later…**

"I was fine," she says, rummaging through her bag to find her key to the front door.

"You were _not_ fine, Em. You'd cried so much you could barely see. There's no way you were driving, especially with all that ice on the roads."

"I just…I didn't want to put you out," she responds, grabbing her the key ring from her purse and finding her house key.

"You didn't," he says, but she can tell he's distracted as his eyes seem to be looking over her.

"What?"

"What's that?"

Emily turns around, facing the front door. On it, she sees a plain white envelope, attached with a piece of scotch tape.

"A Christmas card, maybe?"

"With no address on it?"

She reaches out and takes the envelope from the door. Paul takes her keys from her other hand and opens the front door of the house. They both begin walking in, welcoming the blast of warm air as they enter the small foyer.

"Your mother home?"

"Nah, don't worry, she's working a double shift at the hospital tonight. You're safe," she responds, carefully tearing open the sealed envelope.

He tosses her keys on the small table by the stairs.

"So, is Tom letting you have Daniel at all for Christmas? I think it'd do you some good…..Em?" he pauses as he can see she's stopped dead in her tracks, and is staring at whatever she took out of the envelope. "Em? You okay? What is it?"

Suddenly, her knees seem to buckle underneath her, and he sees her collapsing towards the floor. He rushes forward, managing to brace his own arms under her shoulders as she falls against him. He sees her hand clutching something…but he can't quite make out what it is.

"Em?" he says again. "You're scaring me here."

He gently lowers both of them to the floor, and he feels how limp her body is against his. He peers around from in back of her, and sees the look of total shock on her face…the tears in her eyes. He looks down at her hand, and sees the telltale white paper of the back of a photograph. He reaches down and gently turns her hand, bringing the photograph into his view. His eyes widen as he takes in the picture before him.

"Oh my God…."


	3. Chapter 3

Paul squeezes his eyes shut tight, then quickly opens them again.

_There's no way…_

"It's her," he hears Emily whimper. "It's her."

Despite everything in front of him telling him otherwise, he shakes his head.

"Em…it can't be."

Emily's fingers are almost white, clutching the picture of the tiny baby, wrapped in a pink blanket, much like the one she and Paul had just laid over their daughter's grave.

"It is…it's her," she says, her voice taking on a note of panic as she suddenly turns to him. "I'm _not _crazy, don't even think that."

"Em," he says, trying to remain calm, rational. Because there was no way. He had to keep telling himself that. "We saw her…"

"Yes, we did….it's her Paul. You know it is,_ look_ at her."

"I know…I know how much you want to believe this," he says, his voice becoming slightly more emotional as he continues to speak. "I do too, but Em…she's gone. It's a mistake…a trick. It has to be…there's no other explanation. "

Emily pulls away quickly, turning to face him, holding the picture in front of her.

"That's _her_. You know it is," she cries, her voice rising.

"It could be…a coincidence. Someone got lucky," he says, moving towards her and reaching for the picture. And even as the words were leaving his mouth, he could hear a part of him, his instincts which had always served him so well, screaming at him.

_She's right…_

They'd only had a brief time with their daughter before they took her to the hospital. Once they got there, they had taken her from them.

And it was at that moment that it dawned on him.

They never saw her again.

He gently pries the picture from Emily's hands, feeling her shaking against him. He looks at the picture closely, seeing a slightly bigger version of the tiny bundle Emily had clung to desperately on that stormy night.

But…what if it wasn't? What if it was just some elaborate ruse? Being James Stenbeck's son, he was more than aware of the possibility that what he held in his hand was nothing more than a computer trick and the product of a sick, vengeful mind.

He and Emily had been through a lot recently, and even though things with them were strained right now at best, he couldn't imagine getting her hopes up, getting his own hopes up, only to have them struck down. Again.

"There's gotta be an explanation," he hears himself say.

Emily turns to face him, shifting her body so that she too can see the small picture.

"How can anyone explain this?"

"I don't know, Em, but there's gotta be something. It's not like there isn't anyone in this town who wouldn't want to hurt you, or me for that matter."

"But...it looks just like her," she responds weakly. "Who could be that cruel? And how could they pull it off? The only other person who saw her was Meg, and this isn't something she would do."

"People in the hospital saw her."

Emily looks up at him, tilting her head slightly, her eyes still teary and her body still shaking slightly.

"You're thinking of someone specific," she says quietly.

He takes a deep breath, and looks at her intently.

"Craig was in the hospital that night."

Emily's eyes widen. "What?"

"Yeah…I didn't tell you because….well you were dealing with a lot that night. He was just released and he'd gotten into some kind of accident during the storm."

"He hates you….and he has no love lost for me," she says quietly, almost to herself.

"Right…and he showed up in chapel, after I left you with your mom. Tried to offer his condolences."

"You buy it?"

"It's Craig, Em, of course not."

"How did he know?"

Paul shrugs. "Said he overheard me talking about it."

"But…how could he have seen her? Because, he would have to have seen her, Paul. This," she pauses, looking at the picture, "it's…."

"I know. But this is Craig, Em. He could have seen her. The hospital was short staffed that night because of the storm, he could have had the run of the place and no one would have known. And…he knows people. People who could certainly make this look real."

"Why, though? Why? Yes, he hates us, but Paul, this? Is beyond…beyond any sort of revenge even Craig could come up with."

"Don't underestimate him, Em."

"I'm not," she insists, but Paul sees the tears in her eyes.

"You wanna believe it," he says quietly. "I know. I do too. But…we can't hope."

Emily shakes her head sadly. "I know…because if we do…"

"We're gonna crash, and feel like we're losing her all over again."

She nods, a tear finally escaping. "Craig…"

"Knows I switched the blanks for the bullets in Dusty's gun. Knows you're pretty much done with him as far as helping him out. He was in the hospital that day, he could have seen her. He's definitely capable of getting a photo manipulated enough to make us hope, only to rip it out from under us. The perfect revenge."

She reaches out and runs her finger over the picture.

"I know you're right…," she turns to face him, and is taken aback slightly at the simmering anger she sees in his eyes. She can tell he's been holding it together, trying to calm her down, trying to come up with some kind of reasoning about this.

"You're already pulverizing Craig in your mind, aren't you?" she asks, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

He shakes his head, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. "How do you do that?"

"Years of practice," she responds quietly.

They both finally realize they are still sitting on the floor where Emily had collapsed in his arms. Paul begins to get up, reaching out to help Emily up as well.

"Go," she says. "Go beat the hell out of him. Give him a few punches for me."

He looks at her for a moment, the tear tracks on her cheek reminding him of how shaken she was just a little while ago.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah…yeah I'll be fine."

Noticing her still clutching the picture, he steps toward her, reaching his hand out.

"I need that, Em," he says softly. Knowing that even though they had managed to convince themselves it was all a trick, that it would be tough for Emily to let go of it.

She looks down at the picture, a fresh tear rolling down her cheek.

"I wish…"

"I know…"

She slowly places the picture in his hand, her fingers giving it one last lingering caress as she pulls her hand away, more tears escaping her red-rimmed eyes. Instinctively, Paul reaches out and gently wipes them from her cheeks. Emily gives him a small, grateful smile, a smile of understanding that he returns before he turns and heads towards the door.

"Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

**20 minutes later, Fairwinds**

The scotch burned his throat, but it was that good kind of burn, one only a well aged scotch could provide.

Craig Montgomery loved his scotch, particularly after as long a day as this had been. And though the doctors had told him to take it easy while he was still recovering from his Dusty-inflicted gunshot wound, Craig was never one to take things easy.

He rifles through the mail on the desk. A few bills. Junk mail. He takes another gulp of scotch, frustrated. He knew it was a fruitless hope, but he had thought the holiday spirit might move his missing daughter Lucy to contact him.

He picks up the framed picture on his desk, the one picture he had of Lucy and Johnny together. Despite the common thought around Oakdale that he was nothing but evil, his heart ached at the image of his two children. He had a team of private investigators out looking for them, but so far, they had turned up nothing.

Looking around at the imposing living room, one would never guess the holidays were upon him. Not a tree, not a decoration in sight. He couldn't bring himself to deal with all the holiday trappings, when he had imagined a holiday so different, particularly after last year. One with his daughter and his son, happily opening gifts and just being together. Putting the past behind them.

So lost in the image of a traditional family holiday, Craig doesn't hear the closing of the front door, nor the footsteps hastily making their way into the living room. It's only a split second before an angry fist hits is face that he realizes he isn't alone.

Paul watches with bitter satisfaction as Craig hits the floor, his expensive scotch flying everywhere. Craig's hand moves quickly to his jaw, and he blinks rapidly, clearing the blinding spots from his eyes. When he finally does, he sees Paul Ryan standing above him, seething with fury.

"What the hell is your problem?" Craig spits, managing to sit up.

Paul steps toward him, and Craig is slightly taken aback by the menacing look in his eyes. He takes the picture from his pocket, and throws it into Craig's lap.

"You ever pull a stunt like this again? You'll wish Dusty had had better aim."


	4. Chapter 4

"What are you babbling about?" Craig snarks, slowly getting to his feet, the photograph in his hand. He continues rubbing his jaw as he takes a look at it as Paul watches him, his eyes never leaving Craig's face, looking for any sign of recognition, the tiniest twitch to give him the proof he needed that Craig was behind this.

"Cute kid, but I have no idea what it has to do with me, other than give you an excuse to attack me. Again."

Craig barely gets the words out of his mouth before Paul's fist connects once again, sending Craig staggering backwards and falling against the couch.

"One more time and I call the police, Ryan!"

Paul steps menacingly towards him, his voice dripping with hatred.

"You think this is funny, Craig? Torturing me, torturing Emily?"

"You're paranoid delusional streak is showing," Craig snarks, tenderly touching his face for any signs of blood. "Why don't you cut the Neanderthal routine and tell me what you _think_ I've done now?"

Paul watches him intently as he tries to pull himself together, the photo hanging loosely from his fingers. And watches.

And notices…nothing.

"You gonna answer me?" Craig spits.

Paul takes a step towards Craig, smirking when Craig flinches slightly.

"The picture. Where'd you get it?" Paul demands, even though inside, seeing Craig's lack of reaction has him doubting his involvement.

"You just threw it at me, so I think you know where I got it."

Paul lunges forward and grabs the lapels of Craig's sports coat, whips him around and pins him against the large, antique desk.

"You think I won't kill you?"

"As usual, you're completely off base. And you still haven't answered me. What the hell are you accusing me of?"

Paul snatches the picture from Craig's hand and holds it up in front of his face.

"Who did your dirty work, Craig? You were in the hospital that night. Did you start planning this then? Making sure to get a glimpse of her, so you could give an accurate description? Or were you actually sick enough to somehow take a picture of her? I gotta give 'em credit, whoever it was did a hell of a job."

Craig shoves Paul back and walks away from him.

"You know, I have a lot more things to worry about than you and your crazy rantings. So you either give me a straight answer or I call the cops and have you arrested on assault charges."

"This," Paul snaps angrily, once again holding up the picture. "Getting this picture done, making it look exactly like Em's and my daughter, and then torturing her by taping it to her door."

Craig looks at him incredulously, then bursts out laughing.

"Are you drunk?" Craig stops, noticing the glare Paul is giving him. "Ok…guess not. Look, I don't know who that kid is," he says gesturing towards the picture. "And you ever barge into my house and assault me again, I'll make sure you and the holding cell at the police station get reacquainted."

In the midst of all of his anger, Paul hears the nagging voice again in his head.

_It's her…_

But…he pushes it down. Because he can't allow himself to believe, can't allow himself the hope that will inevitably be crushed.

As he watches Craig, another thought enters his mind.

Craig really doesn't know anything about this.

Refusing to give Craig the satisfaction that he's doubting his accusation, Paul just smirks in response to Craig's threat.

"Consider this you're warning, Craig….because if I find out you're lying to me? I'll be back," he sneers, then turns and storms out of the room, leaving a somewhat befuddled yet angry Craig in his wake.

"Go to hell, Paul Ryan," Craig mutters, picking up his glass and pouring himself another healthy glass of scotch.

* * *

Paul tosses his keys onto the table and immediately heads over to the crystal decanter, needing a large drink to try and process the events of the night.

On the way home in the car, he had tried Emily on his cellphone, but she hadn't answered. He figured she had probably fallen asleep, exhausted with the emotional rollercoaster that the last few hours had put them on.

He drapes his jacket over the back of the couch, carefully removing the picture from his pocket. Taking his glass, he sits down on the couch, looking at it.

It was amazing…the likeness.

Or was it?

He didn't know what to make of it. They hadn't had a lot of time with her…had he forgotten how she really looked? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

_Wouldn't be the first time…_

But who would do it? He was fairly certain after his run in with Craig that he wasn't involved. Craig was a liar, one of the best, but Paul was also pretty good at reading him, and he seemed to genuinely know nothing.

Which, in a way, ticked him off further. Because he didn't know what to feel. Craig, he could understand. He could deal with Craig, he could get revenge.

And he would know this picture was a fake.

Making sure he had no hope. He didn't want to hope.

Because it was fruitless. Paul had to tell himself that. She was gone, and no matter how much he and Emily wanted things to be different?

They weren't.

So back to square one. If Craig hadn't come up with this doctored photo, then who?

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. He sets down his drink and the photo and goes to answer it, only to find Pete, one of the doormen, on the other side of it.

"Mr. Ryan, I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I was helping another resident when you came in earlier," he pauses, and holds out a small cardboard box. "This came for you tonight."

Paul freezes momentarily, then shakes himself out of it and looks at Pete. "From who?"

"By messenger, sir. Seemed kinda late for a messenger, but it is the holidays."

Paul eyes the box, noticing only his name and address.

No return address.

"Mr. Ryan?"

"Uh…yeah. Thanks, Pete," he says distantly, taking the box from him. Pete nods and heads back towards the elevator, leaving Paul standing there in the open doorway, staring at the box in his hand.

Slowly, he closes the door and moves back inside. He turns the box over, carefully looking for any other markings.

Then, like a shot, he rushes to his desk and pulls out a letter opener. Plunging through the packing tape, he rips it furiously, shoving the flaps apart and grabbing at what's inside.

A jewel case.

He turns it over and sees a DVD staring back at him.

Noticing for the first time that his hands are slightly shaking, he hurriedly places the DVD in his player and turns on the TV.

He sits down in front of it, seeing a blue screen staring back at him. Finally, it begins to break up and he sees a dark room. The obviously hand held camera pans the room slowly but shakily. Paul squints, trying to make out anything in the shadows.

And that's when he hears it.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying. He begins reaching for the remote to hit the volume when suddenly, the source of the sound comes into the frame.

His hand stops in mid air, and slowly makes its way to the television. His eyes mist over as his fingers finally touch the screen. In the midst of the sound of her crying, one whispered word reverberates throughout the empty apartment.

"Jennifer."


	5. Chapter 5

Emily reaches out to touch the headstone. After Paul had left, she had had trouble falling asleep. Everytime she closed her eyes, all she saw was the photograph that looked so much like the little pink bundle she and Paul had held that fateful, icy night.

She didn't even really remember how she wound up here again. Grabbing her coat, her keys, getting in the car, driving…it all seemed like a blur.

But here she was.

She had fought the urge to go to Paul's. She knew, despite his warmer attitude with her before, that it wouldn't last forever. He was still angry with her for telling Meg about him trying to kill Craig. And she knew she had to try and move on, but…like it always did, it felt so _right_ to be with him.

She shakes her head slightly, trying to shake off that feeling, because she knew she had blown it, more than once now. She was grateful, though, that he had reached out to her tonight. Coming here earlier tonight, dealing with the holiday without their baby alone, was something she wasn't sure she could have gotten through.

She brushes a few flurries that had fallen on the pink blanket they had left earlier, then reaches out to straighten the little teddy bear sitting on top of it.

Emily closes her eyes, the photograph still etched in her brain.

"What if?" she asks quietly. "I would do anything…anything, just for the hope that you might be alive," she finishes, opening her eyes and allowing a tear escape.

She suddenly hears the chiming of her cell phone and quickly grabs it, not wanting the loudness to interrupt the peace surrounding her. She does a double take at the name in the lighted display, not expecting to hear from him again tonight.

"Paul?"

"Em….where are you?"

She immediately picks up the strained yet emotional tenor to his voice.

"I came back to the cemetery…why, what's wrong?"

"How fast can you get to my place?"

"You're scaring me…"

"Just…get here. Fast."

She hears the click of Paul hanging up and immediately snaps her phone shut. She presses her fingers to her lips and gently presses them to their daughter's headstone.

Her heart pounding furiously in her chest, she grabs her keys and heads quickly to her car.

* * *

He sets the phone down, his eyes never having left the television. He had fast forwarded and rewound for minutes before he finally settled on the perfect frame. The one where he could see her beautiful eyes, wet with tears. Her nose, all scrunched up from crying, that Emily had said was just like his.

And he sits and stares at it. Frozen.

Yet, while his body was frozen? His mind was racing a million miles a minute with questions.

_Where is she?_

_How is this possible?_

_Who has her?_

_Is she safe?_

He once again reaches out to the television, his fingers aching to feel her baby soft skin beneath them instead of the hard glass of the screen. His other hand hits the 'play' button to unpause the DVD.

He wasn't even sure what to feel at the moment. Relief. Joy. Anger. Fear. Each came in its own wave, eclipsing the one that came before it, leaving him a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

The only thing that he felt that was absolutely certain? It was her. It was their daughter.

It seemed unexplainable, and yet, there _had_ to be an explanation. Because there she was. Alive. Crying. Squirming. Her tiny hands slashing through the air. Only seeing her for a few moments, he could already tell she had inherited her parents' tempers.

Time seemed to stop, as he just continued to rewind and watch. Over and over. It wasn't until he heard the sharp knock at the door that he realized that it had been almost 20 minutes since he had spoken to Emily.

He hits pause once more, then roughly rubbing his hands over his face, he stands and heads to the door. As soon as he swings it open, he can tell Emily knows something is up just from the look on her face.

"Em…"

"What's wrong? You sounded….urgent on the phone."

"Nothing's wrong, I mean, not exactly….," he says, fumbling a bit to find the right words. But how do you find the right words for this? What should be joyous news, and is, but with all the anxiety riddled questions surrounding it?

"What are you talking about?"

Paul moves to the side, a gesture for Emily to come in. She walks in slowly, her features clearly showing her own anxiety, feeling it radiate off of him. He turns and watches as she stops dead in her tracks, having spotted the still image on his large television screen. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widen, filling with tears.

He closes the door softly, then walks up behind her, reaching out and resting his hand on her shoulder, understanding the utter shock of the moment that she was feeling, being that he hadn't fully recovered from his own shock yet. After a few moments that seem eternal, he finally hears her emotional whisper.

"It's…her?"

"Yeah," he responds softly, the disbelief that this good thing was happening to them evident in his utterance of that one word. "I mean…it has to be, right? Look at her."

Still in a state of shock, Emily walks slowly towards the television, tears blurring her vision so much that she wipes frantically at her face, wanting to get a clear glimpse of the little pink bundle on the screen. She kneels down in front of the screen, so close that the image of the baby is almost life size. She feels Paul kneel down next to her.

"Where did you get this?" she asks quietly.

"The doorman came up and gave it to me. Said it was delivered earlier tonight."

Emily reaches out and touches the screen, jumping slightly as Paul hits the pause button, filling the room with the sound of her crying. A sound that instantly brings a smile to Emily's face.

"She's alive! Our little girl…" she says, turning to Paul with a brilliant smile through her tears, her voice tinged with happiness and disbelief. Impulsively she reaches over and throws her arms around his neck, closing her eyes as she feels his strong arms surround her.

After a few moments, she pulls back, and while there's a soft, almost disbelieving smile on his face, the anxiety filling his beautiful hazel eyes isn't lost on Emily. And as quickly as the joy had hit her, a wave of fear washes over her. The smile that had lit up her face quickly changes as anxiety grips her features and she instinctively reaches over and grabs Paul's hand.

"Who has her, Paul? Where is she?"

"I don't know…"

"The envelope this came in, there was no address?"

"Nothing. Believe me I looked over every inch of it for some clue."

Emily looks back at the screen.

"We have to go to the police," she says, beginning to get up, but she stops as she feels Paul's grip on her hand increase. She looks at him quizzically, and notices the anxiety that had colored his eyes moments before was now a mixture of fierce protectiveness and anger that knocks her back for a second.

"What? Paul, come on, we have to report this. We have to find her!"

He looks at her, she almost being able to feel the heat of his gaze on her skin. When he finally responds to her, the determination in his voice is unmistakable.

"There's no way in hell we're going to the police."


	6. Chapter 6

"What? Why not?"

Paul stares at her for a moment, then looks away, sitting down on the sofa.

"Paul?" Emily steps towards him, the determined yet anxious look in his eyes not lost on her.

"I just think…look Em, what do we really have? You and I both think it's her but the honest truth is? We don't know. Whoever is doing this obviously wants us to think it's her, and if that's the case, they'll contact us again."

"So, what, you just wanna sit around and wait?"

"I just…I think we need more. Plus…Jack, Margo, neither of them are big fans of ours. They're gonna think we're nuts if we walk in there now."

"But I can't…I can't just sit here. We have to find her!"

He walks over to the television and sits in front of it, rewinding the footage and watching it again. This time, though, his eyes concentrate on her surroundings, looking for any clue as to where she might be.

"Em," he says, pausing the DVD and turning to look at her, "I know…we've been through a lot. And I know the trust between is us is not great right now but…I'm asking you to trust me on this. I just think if we go to the police with so little, with basically no proof that this is even our daughter, that we might make things worse."

He watches her closely, almost able to see her mind racing behind her anxious eyes. Her eyes never leave his, weighing his sincerity as he waits for her to respond. Finally, she moves closer to him and sits down on the floor beside him.

"Okay," she says softly.

"Okay?"

"I'll trust you."

Paul reaches over and gently squeezes her hand, then hits play again. Their eyes are glued to the screen as the tiny baby girl comes into view again.

"We'll find her, Em. We'll find her."

* * *

**The next morning...**

With a start, he awakens, his eyes scanning the room and falling on the television.

There she was. Still there.

Paul exhales, and roughly rubs his face as he sits up, having been sprawled next to a chair on the floor with the remote still in his hand. His eyes fall on Emily, who is curled up on the sofa. Outside, the sun is just starting to light up Oakdale, and the faintest of beams creep into his apartment. He stands up and takes a few steps towards Emily. His heart can't help but be tugged, despite everything they'd been through together, when he sees the picture of their daughter underneath her fingers as she sleeps. But that's always how it had been with them. A connection that, no matter what, just never goes away. And while that was scary to Paul in many respects, as intense and real as things always were between them and as well as they knew each other, it was also incredibly comforting to know she was around and if push came to shove, Emily would be there. Just as he would be for her.

It's that thought that brings a wave of guilt over him. Because he knew, there was one time when he hadn't been there for her. When he'd left her alone to deal with everything, to deal with the loss of their baby girl. When he'd been so eager to avoid dealing with the loss, to avoid the pain and grief, that he'd run from her and the reality of the heartbreak he knew he'd have to confront if he shared it with her. That was the thing about him and Emily – they couldn't hide from each other when they were together. The only way to hide from the pain? Was to run away.

His eyes stray once again to the screen, and the angelic face, even while crying, that looks back at him.

"I'm not gonna leave you alone this time," he says quietly. "Either of you."

The soft sound of his voice causes Emily to stir. As she awakens, her fingers gently grasp the photo they'd been gently touching. Paul takes a step back and sits on the coffee table, watching as, just as he had, her newly opened eyes go immediately to the television screen.

"Hey."

"Hey," she responds softly. "So, this isn't a dream."

"She was the first thing I looked at too."

"I'm so scared," she says, tears forming in her eyes. "What if we don't find her?"

"We will," Paul responds firmly, and it's his tone of voice that tears Emily's eyes away from the television set, and she smiles slightly at the determination she finds in his eyes.

"Thankfully, I know how determined you are when you want something."

"I'm not gonna make the same mistakes again, Em."

Emily looks at him quizzically. "What do you…"…

But her question is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. They both instinctively jump up, and Paul rushes to the door and swings it open.

"Well, well, isn't this interesting. Have we become bed buddies again? I bet Meg would be interested to hear that."

Craig begins to walk in, but Paul steps in front of him, keeping him in the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing here Craig?"

"Come on Paul, I think we can at least be civil, especially when I'm here to help. Emily, call off the attack dog, would you?"

"At this point, Craig, Paul could rip you to shreds right here and I'd happily cheer him on."

"Is that any way to talk to your boss? Especially when I'm just trying to be a decent human being here, helping two people in need," Craig replies, his voice dripping with fake sincerity.

"Oh yeah, St. Craig," mutters Paul, a distinctly disgusted tone in his voice. "I'll ask again, what the hell do you want?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Craig snarks, "after you assaulted me last night, I got to thinking about your completely wild accusations. And it made me remember something."

"Did it?", Paul asks, his menacing tone lost on no one.

"Yes, and while it occurred to me to let you two suffer, because, after all, it's not like either of you deserve any better, I thought I'd actually be a good guy and help you out."

"I'm sure," snaps Emily, "that whatever it is you think will help us? Also greatly benefits you Craig."

"Sweetheart, you know me too well," Craig smiles. He holds out a large manila envelope to Paul, whose controlled anger is practically radiating off of him. "You want it or not?"

"I find it… interesting that suddenly you have information that could help us, when last night you claimed you had no idea what I was talking about."

"I didn't know what you were talking about. But then, I rarely do when you go on one of your paranoid delusional rants. Like I said, after you left, I remembered something I'd seen. But hey, if you don't wanna cash in on my attempt at a good deed…" Craig says, taking a step back and shrugging.

"Wait…" Emily says, taking a step towards the door. Paul turns to look at her, and their eyes connect. Craig notices the look between them.

"Oh, I'm happy to wait for a minute if you two would like to…talk," Craig says, a cocky grin on his face.

Paul turns to glare at him, then turns back to Emily, taking her arm lightly and pulling her to the side.

"You think he's got her?"

Emily shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe this is the contact we've been waiting for."

"Or another one of Craig's games."

"True. But…I think we need to take the chance, don't you?"

"Em, I don't trust him."

"Well I don't trust him either but…" her voice fades out as she turns to look at the screen once again. Paul eyes follow hers and in that moment, he knows what he has to do.

Craig takes a step into the apartment and watches them, noticing them looking at the little girl on the screen. He clears his throat, gaining their attention. He once again holds out the long manila envelope.

"So, what do you say? Are Oakdale's two biggest manipulators gonna trust Uncle Craig?"


End file.
